


Sweepin' Low Across the Plains

by dreamlittleyo



Series: This Hard Land 'Verse [4]
Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairing, F/M, Romance, Sparring, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo thinks there's a lot River could teach her.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweepin' Low Across the Plains

Just because River flies the ship doesn't mean she never gets involved in the messy, angry violence of jobs gone south.

Jo knows the history there—she had to piece it together from hints and snapshots at first, until she finally worked up the nerve to ask Mal and got the whole ugly story of what the Alliance did to an innocent teenage girl. Jo knows, in the abstract, what River Tam can do.

But it's not until she finally sees River in action that Jo realizes what impossible feats this girl—this weapon—is capable of. It's the first time the fact really hits home that River _is_ a weapon: brutal, unapologetic and capable of anything.

It occurs to Jo that she should be scared—or at least wary. It's not natural for a scrawny girl, armed only with a small knife, to take on a bank vault full of twenty men and emerge without a scratch.

But River smiles at Jo as they carry their liberated cargo back to the ship. She smiles easily, and brightly, and all her dangerous edges melt away into the shadows, leaving Jo with the revelation that she doesn't fear River.

She doesn't think she can.

 

\- — - — - — -

She asks Mal once.

"I know she's the getaway driver and all, but there have to be more people who can fly the ship. Why don't you take River on more jobs?"

It's late, ship's midnight, and the engines are a distant hum through the walls of the captain's bunk. Jo's wearing one of his shirts, protection against the inevitable chill, and the worn brown fabric is comfortable despite the fact that she's got the buttons askew. She lies beside him, easy and warm, and lets her eyes track the familiar grated pattern of the ceiling.

"Because she's my ace in the hole," says Mal. His fingers brush through Jo's hair without conscious intent, his breath tickling warmly at her ear and throat.

"She's incredible," Jo points out. The statement draws a soft chuckle from Mal.

"She is at that," he concedes. "But she's the big guns. She's overkill more times than not, and the second she gets a reputation we lose our element of surprise. People will see her coming from a mile away. Anyone planning to double cross us will take extra precautions. Like an army, or a crater canon, and then where will we be?"

"Extra dead," Jo surmises. "Good point."

"Besides," Mal adds cheerfully. "Simon got downright pissy the one time I dragged her along on purpose. Real paranoid, overprotective brother type. If we wait until desperate circumstances, it's harder for him to complain."

"That's a good point, too," Jo observes lightly.

When she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, he captures her mouth instead, and they don't talk any more for a while.

 

\- — - — - — -

The third time Jo sees River flatten a mob single-handedly, she decides she's missing out on an incredible opportunity.

"Absolutely not," Mal says when she broaches the subject with him. Which is ridiculous, really. Jo only asked him first because she knows how much he appreciates the illusion that he's got some say in the minutiae of life aboard Serenity.

"Mal," Jo says reasonably. "It's a _good_ idea. Imagine how much better I'll be at hand-to-hand if I learn even a fraction of what she knows."

"You know enough about violence already," Mal points out evenly. "You're doin' just fine working with Zoë. Hell, I'd even venture so far as to say she enjoys sparring with you."

Jo has to smile a little at that. She admires Zoë, even more so since the woman has actually started talking to her—quietly, sparsely, almost grudgingly, but talking just the same.

"I won't _stop_ sparring with Zoë," Jo points out reasonably.

"More ain't always better, girl."

"In this case I think it is. And don't call me 'girl'."

"You let me call you 'girl' all the time."

"Not when you're being unreasonable," Jo huffs, crossing her arms. It takes everything in her bluffing arsenal to keep her face level and determined, to keep petulance from sneaking through.

"I'll think about it," Mal sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

It's as good as a 'yes', so Jo smiles and tugs him down by the collar to press a warm kiss to his cheek.

 

\- — - — - — -

He does say 'yes', two days later, and by then Jo has already talked to River—a quiet, surreptitious conversation—and she's got all her ducks in a row. All she needs is the captain's final say-so, and it's a relief when Mal finally agrees.

"Thank you," Jo says meaningfully. "And you don't need to worry, you know. About… my safety, or my soul or whatever it is that's freaking you out so much. I know what I'm doing."

"That's what I'm afraid of," says Mal, but there's a sad smile softening his words—warm fondness in his eyes to go with the resignation of defeat. "I s'pose you want to get started right away."

"Damn right I do," Jo says, grinning wide and smug. "Let me just ask River."

"Please," Mal snorts into his coffee, rolling his eyes knowingly. "Like you two haven't already talked this through from stem to stern."

"Sure we have," Jo admits brightly. She's a little surprised (but mostly not) at being so easily caught out. "But we didn't want to finalize anything without your approval. _Captain_."

Mal rolls his eyes again and fixes her with an exasperated look. Jo just teases her lower lip between her teeth and waits him out.

"Well go on then," he mutters, waving a dismissive hand. "Go have it out with River if that's what you need to do."

Jo pauses to squeeze his shoulder on her way to the door, and heads straight for the bridge where she knows River will be waiting.

 

\- — - — - — -

They spar in the cargo bay, almost (but not quite) as often as Jo works with Zoë.

River kicks Jo's ass constantly, repeatedly, and with an efficiency that would make Jo's pride throb and bruise if she weren't all too aware of the girl's terrifying abilities.

River doesn't impart specific techniques—she's not exactly the teaching type (unlike Zoë, who knows exactly how to break down an attack or a defense and demonstrate its component parts). Mostly Jo focuses on trying to keep up, on learning to respond with faster reflexes and harder blows to River's impossibly quick movements.

Sometimes River will slow herself down deliberately. She'll broadcast the high kick, telegraph the low jab, spin in slow motion to block Jo's moves. And those times, Jo watches closely. She emulates and mimics, rinse and repeat, over and over until each new move is her own and River drags her along to the next new thing.

It _does_ make Jo a better fighter. It makes her feel deadly in a way she only ever used to with a gun or a blade in her hands. She begins to understand the cautious restraint she sees in so much of Mal and Zoë's movement: how carefully a person must move when they could kill someone with their bare hands.

Jo's not sure she _could_ kill someone bare-handed, even with all the extra training and practice. She _is_ sure she'd prefer never to find out.

But she can do serious damage. _That_ she knows with grim, satisfied certainty. It's a theory she tests on more jobs than not.

She just wishes it didn't put such a regretful shadow in Mal's eyes.

 

\- — - — - — -

"Would you stop looking at me like that?" she snaps after a job on Aberdeen devolves into the kind of fighting that's a little too close and hands-on for comfort.

They're back on Serenity, marred with bruises and abrasions but no one seriously injured, and Mal won't stop staring at her with those guilty shadows in his eyes.

"Like what?" he asks, but his expression doesn't change.

"Like… Jesus, like _that_ , okay?" She gestures at him frustratedly and flops down on the bottom stair at the ramp end of the cargo hold. "Like I'm Frankenstein's monster and you're Dr. Frankenstein himself."

Mal stares at her without comprehension and says, "I got zero notion who that is."

"Of course not." Jo rolls her eyes. "Would you _please_ sit down?"

He does so, but watches her warily as he moves.

"Look," she says. "I know you'd rather protect me than let me run around out there when things get cagey, but I thought we were past all this. That's not me. It's _never_ been me."

"How can you know that for sure?" Mal asks stubbornly. "You barely remember your life before us."

His point isn't meritless. Jo's managed to construct bits and pieces, mostly about her family, but for the most part her life before Serenity remains a frustrated, foggy blank.

"It's not about what I _remember_ ," Jo says, locking him with a meaningful look. "It's what I _feel_. If you kept me locked up on this ship, and I had to watch you all go out and risk your lives without me… Mal, I'd go crazy inside a week."

"You'd be safer."

"I'd go completely postal," says Jo. "Or I'd whither away and die. If I can't help—… If I can't protect the people I care about, then what's the point? Of anything?"

Mal looks away then, as if made uncomfortable by her argument, or maybe she's hitting too close to home. She sure as hell can't imagine _him_ sitting one out, waiting for his crew to come back in once piece without getting involved. It's not a perfect comparison. He's the captain, after all, and she's just Jo. But she can tell from the way he suddenly can't meet her eyes that he knows all too well how she feels.

"I may not be the strongest fighter," Jo concedes. "But this is still what I am. And it's _not_ something _you_ turned me into. You can't take credit for what's in my blood."

"You're so sure it's in your blood," Mal murmurs, darkly skeptical. It's not a question, but it's not a concession either.

"You want to know the earliest, clearest memory I've got?" Jo asks, keeping her tone as soft and light as she can. "It's my dad. We're outside somewhere, it's grassy and dusty and hot, and he's teaching me self-defense moves. How to throw a good punch, how to break an attacker's wrist, how to get away fast from a bigger, stronger opponent."

She glances sidelong at Mal, but he's still stoically glaring off in another direction entirely. He's holding his tongue, at least. Letting her make her point.

"He wanted me to be safe," says Jo. "I don't really know what _from_ , but… he wanted to know I could take care of myself."

"How old were you?" Mal asks, and the question sounds reluctant—like he didn't even mean to ask.

"When he started training me?" Jo asks. "No idea. But by the time I was ten, none of the bullies at school would come near me. I knew how to shoot before I could drive a car." Mal gives her a quick, quietly quizzical look at that—probably wants to ask her what a 'car' is—but Jo just presses on. "I can only remember one birthday, but my favorite present that year was from him. It was a knife. Pure iron blade, pearl handle with a special inscription." She doesn't mention that she's pretty sure the inscription was a set of protective runes. There's no such thing as magic, and she doesn't want to sound crazy.

She tapers off after that. She'd keep going if she could, but her memories are too fragmented. They're ink on a wet page that's bled too much to make out the details.

The silence that settles between them is contemplative and inoffensive. Jo waits patiently, darting glances now and then at Mal's pensive profile. Jayne wanders through the hold at one point, but he just grunts in greeting and doesn't interrupt, eventually finds whatever he's looking for and disappears back into the belly of the ship.

Jo carefully, stubbornly refuses to be the one to break the silence, and when Mal finally speaks his expression has lightened fractionally. There's something almost resembling acceptance in his gaze when he turns the meaningful weight of his eyes on Jo.

"What you're saying is, there ain't a single damn thing I could do to stop you. You'll always be itchin' to fight, because you were practically born that way."

Jo laughs, warm and relieved, and says, "That pretty much sums it up."

"Still wouldn't mind if you'd try a _little_ harder to stay out of trouble," Mal grumbles morosely.

"Hey," Jo retorts, jostling him with her shoulder. "When have I _ever_ been the first one to start shooting?"

"Verbena."

"That doesn't count. They had explosives _and_ your gun. Not to mention a shotgun aimed at your head. If Jayne and Zoë had been there—"

Except she never gets to say what Jayne or Zoë would've done, because Mal's mouth gets in the way. He kisses her, cutting off her explanation midstream, and Jo gasps and parts her lips instinctively.

They've never done this outside Mal's bunk. She doubts Mal would even hold her hand in public, were either of them inclined to that sort of affectionate display. The fact that he's kissing her in the middle of the cargo hold—strong hands cupping her face, broad shoulders inclined towards her, line of his thigh warm against her leg—is making Jo's head spin.

When he finally pulls away, part of Jo wants to follow and crawl right into his lap. But smarter instincts win out, and she presses her lips together for the moment it takes the urge to pass, then finally opens her eyes.

She finds him watching her, quiet and intent, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns over her jaw and cheekbones.

"Are we okay?" Jo asks softly. She worries that she'll never reassure him—that she's going to spend her entire future having this same conversation over and over again, never quite convincing him.

Even the thought of that possibility exhausts her.

But Mal finally smiles, dry and genuine, and says, "Guess we'd better be. I don't fancy fighting a losing battle against a force of nature for the rest of my life."

Jo's heart gives a thrilled little flutter at the way he says 'the rest of my life', but she keeps the silly grin from her face and instead pretends to seriously consider for a moment, knitting her eyebrows together in mock concern.

"Since when am I a force of nature?" She's teasing shamelessly, and the answering glint of mischief in Mal's eyes makes her smile.

"Since you appeared out of nowhere and punched me in the face before I even knew your name," he says. "That kind of beginning? That's downright auspicious."

Jo laughs and covers one of his hands with her own.

"You surprised the hell out of me when you let me stay," she admits. "After an introduction like that especially."

"Yeah, well," Mal gives a small, one-shouldered shrug. "Couldn't just leave you behind. I had a feeling about you."

Jo's smile deepens—those are words she's heard before.

"I ain't likely to stop worrying," Mal admits, expression sliding into more somber territory. "It's what I do. I'm damn good at it, not to mention it's my prerogative as captain."

"Long as you let me fight," says Jo. "I can live with that."

 

\- — - — - — -

The next time Jo spars with River, exchanging blows back and forth across the smooth cargo bay floor, Mal is there to watch.

 

\- — - fin - — -


End file.
